I Didn't Expect You
by Velysspar
Summary: Castiel Milton, a 32-year old neurosurgeon, is pretty much married to his job. It's fine. It's easier that way. But what will happen when Dean Winchester, a coma patient straight out of a car crash, will enter his life? You'd think that not a lot could possibly happen in a hospital room, but this wouldn't be the first time that Castiel was proved wrong... (Dean/Cas human AU)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural. All the rights belong to its rightful owners.**

* * *

_"Doctor Milton, code blue. Doctor Milton, code blue. Doctor Milton, ER, code blue."_

Castiel Milton had always been a light sleeper. It comes with the job. Not that it was easy or enjoyable to be pulled out of your slumber; it wasn't - especially not when those were the first two hours you've had in almost a day and a half, but he was dedicated and he was _quick_. When he was on call, he was on call, and he'd never slept in. Not even once.

Seconds later, he was out of the highly uncomfortable cot that served as his bed for the vast majority of the week. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water across his tired face, the droplets stinging his worn out blue eyes and soon traveling into his hair as he ran his fingers through the black mess atop his head. He then made his way through the crowded hallways filled with frantic, hurried people, pulling his white coat on in the process.

The world was still a bit of a blur, his tired eyes glazed and his sight out of focus, when he entered the emergency part of the Winged Heart hospital, only to be quickly led to one of the rooms by a nurse, a brown haired, relatively short woman by the name of Megan Masters. She gave him the basic info - man in his early thirties, car crash caused by a drunk driver who died on site, while the one that got hit was currently battling for his life. Excessive internal bleeding, punctured lung, possible cerebral hemorrhage... That was Castiel's area alright. After all, according to some rankings, he was one of the best neurosurgeons in the state.

He thoroughly washed his hands, pulled on his scrubs and rushed in. Three other doctors and several nurses crowded the room, one shouting over the other. His glance quickly came to rest at the heart rate monitors.

The man's pulse was rapidly dwindling.

His next look fell upon the victim himself. He couldn't see much past the blood and bandages, but he did see a gaping wound right above the man's right temple.

There was no time to waste. He had a life waiting to be saved.

"Meg, morphine. Stat!"

**:~:**

It'd been a very long four hours.

They'd been forced to operate, to cut the man's skull open and stop the bleeding, to put all those broken pieces back together. Castiel focused on one part while the other doctors worked on the victim's lung, his broken arm and leg, displaced shoulder... Of course, not all of it had to be done at once. Their main task was to save Dean Winchester - that was the man's name according to the I.D. they'd found in his wallet - and for the most part, the task had been accomplished. The man was stabilized, although it'd be many hours before he opened his eyes, and who knew how many days or even weeks before he'd be allowed to walk.

Smack in the middle of the surgery, the nurses had to fight off a very determined, loud and absolutely terrified giant who tried to rush inside. Castiel couldn't tear his eyes away from his work, absorbed by making sure not to do more damage than the accident itself had already caused, but he heard the desperate cries of _'Dean! Dean! Let me see him! Please!' _over the sound of various monitors, tools and doctors shouting commands to the rest of the staff. He'd heard this kind of fear in many a voices before, but deep down inside, he still felt shaken by it.

He couldn't just follow his instinct and turn to look at the screaming man, though. It could've been anybody. The man's brother, father, cousin... Anybody. To Castiel, he was just one more reason to save this man's life.

He was sure he'd managed to do so.

After the man was stabilized, Castiel left the operating table along with the other three doctors and went to take a long shower, washing the sweat off his tired, coiled muscles. His shift had ended three hours ago, but he wasn't going to leave just yet. He'd stay and make sure that Dean Winchester remained stable throughout the night.

He really was one of the best neurosurgeons in the state, perhaps even in the country. Only thirty-two, but very skilled, he climbed the ranks almost right out of med school (finished with honors) and he sacrificed whatever illusion of a personal life he may have had in favor of his job. Nobody worked quite as long hours, nobody took as many shifts, and nobody drove back to the hospital right in the middle of a Saturday night as often as Castiel did. The people he worked with used to remark on the fact that he ought to give himself a break, but he hardly ever listened and he never talked back, because he wasn't a man of many words.

This time, no longer in a hurry, he made his way back to the E.R and quickly found the room that Dean Winchester was in. He did not even need to read the little plaque near the door; the sight of a truly gigantic man sitting next to the bed would be explanation enough. He may have not had the time to look at the guy himself, but the nurses described him as enormously tall, and if there was one person to fit the description, that was the man.

He knocked on the door, softly as not to interrupt his undoubtedly still sedated patient, and the other man jumped slightly at the sound, getting right out of the uncomfortable, sickly-green chair he was previously sitting in.

The room was painfully white, lit up by two dim lamps and a set of monitors surrounding the cot that Dean was sleeping in. When the man turned around, Castiel saw a friendly face with what looked like green eyes, shoulder-length hair and a whole lot of fear, worry and sadness; a look so well known to every doctor, so often mirrored in the faces of people who'd almost lost somebody they loved.

The giant forced a smile upon his lips, but Castiel could see true gratitude both in his features and his voice when he spoke up, walking towards him across the tiled floor.

"Doctor Milton, right? Thank you so much. Nurse Masters said you'd saved my brother's life."

So he was a brother. Castiel stole a look at Dean before focusing on the man in front of him, eyes drifting to take a look at his patient's heart rate, to make sure everything was alright.

Seemingly, it was.

"Don't thank me. What matters is that your brother is stable," Castiel dismissed in a quiet voice. He'd often been told that his voice was gruff, rough around the edges, and he hoped that this man would not take it the wrong way. Even after a few years on the job, he still wasn't very adept at accepting congratulations and thank you's; to him, being a doctor wasn't about that. It was about sustaining life, the most precious thing any of them had ever been given.

"Oh, c'mon. I don't know what I would have done without-," he abruptly stopped there, eyes drifting to the floor. Castiel saw the man swallow hard, shoulders tense, and when he looked up again, his cheek was stained by a trail of tears, which the man quickly wiped away, pinching the bridge of his nose afterwards. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

Castiel gingerly took the outstretched hand and introduced himself. "I'm Castiel Milton," he said, skipping the niceties and the titles.

Sam's eyes flashed with surprise at hearing the unusual name, but he didn't ask about it, and Castiel was grateful for it. He was tired of always having to explain.

"Do you think Dean's gonna be okay?" Sam choked out, letting go of Castiel's hand and stealing a look at his brother's sleeping, bandaged figure.

Castiel followed his eyes, catching a glimpse of what he could not see on the operating table; a patch of ash blonde hair, a bruised face, a pair of eyes adorned by very thick eyelashes. The outline of the man's body hidden underneath the sheets told Castiel that he wasn't lazy; he'd most definitely worked out a whole lot before the accident, because the trace of muscles in his arms was unmistakable for anything else.

"I believe so," Castiel responded, then paused for an instant. "I can't deny that his injuries are rather severe... It was a pretty bad accident. Your brother is... Quite lucky to be alive, Mr. Winchester."

Castiel could see the way Sam's breath hitched in his throat at that, before his jaw set tighter, a vicious gleam working its way into the man's eyes.

"The bastard's almost killed him..." Sam muttered.

"I heard that the other driver passed away."

Sam nodded.

"Can't say I feel sorry for the guy," the Winchester growled, "But I just... I just want Dean to be fine. He won't... Die, right? He'll get better now?"

Seeing the desperate hope in this twenty-something man's eyes made something constrict inside Castiel's chest. He wasn't used to seeing grown men act so vulnerable around him. They'd cry in front of the nurses, the female doctors, but never in front of him. Sam Winchester, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time holding it together regardless of the company.

Cas so badly wanted to lie, to say that Dean would certainly survive, but he couldn't know that. All he could do was to stay there throughout the night and watch over his patient alongside the man's brother.

"The next few hours will be conclusive," Cas finally said, "If he makes it through, he will be alright."

He wanted to add _eventually_, but he spared the giant that additional piece of knowledge, at least for now.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Sam mumbled, shooting him one last thankful, if worried, glance before settling back onto the chair, eyes glued to Dean.

Castiel walked over to the hospital cot and observed the sedated man in silence. He'd been hooked up to a whole lot of different machines; heart monitors, breathing aid, morphine being pumped straight into the man's veins, a plethora of things that kept him alive. He looked at peace now, but Castiel knew how deceiving that could be; any damage caused so close to the most important parts of the brain could have unexpected results.

Without asking for permission, Castiel pulled up another chair and sat down next to Sam Winchester, wordlessly watching over the sleeping man before him, thinking of all the things he'd possibly leave behind if Cas failed to help him get through this in one piece.

**:~:**

The night passed without any sleep for either Sam or Castiel. They spent the hours until dusk without much conversation on Castiel's part, but somewhere in the middle of the night, when Dean's pulse briefly dwindled, Sam lost his composure and when the situation was brought back under control with the help of another doctor and several nurses, Cas remained to listen to Sam spill their life story. Or rather, not their life story, but their early years.

It appeared that the Winchester brothers were very close ever since Sam, the younger brother, was born, and it seemed that most of the man's childhood memories revolved around his older brother. Castiel quietly listened as Sam spun tales of scraped knees, fights in the school courtyard and watching the fireworks on the Fourth of July, hardly mentioning his parents, only describing Dean. As far as their adult life goes, Castiel found out next to nothing, but he didn't mind. He was a good listener, not so much a conversation maker, and in a strange way, he was happy to offer whatever support he could to Sam. The man struck him as kind, and obviously very attached to his brother. The least he could do was to stick around and listen.

By the time seven in the morning rolled around and the hospital started bustling with life again, Castiel had already heard about the time Dean nearly set Sam's hair on fire when he was eight, the time Sam developed a crush on a girl two years his senior and Dean attempted to get her to notice his scrawny little brother, and the time they both tried to build a car out of some old scrapes of metal and almost succeeded, if you consider that it looked like a kayak and did not actually run.

At seven-thirty in the morning Meg, the nurse, came in to check on Dean and froze at the sight of Castiel, her full lips agape in surprise.

"Castiel? Weren't you meant to go home about... Twelve hours ago? Look at you, married to the job," she said with a smirk before settling her eyes on the patient. "I heard about what happened. The boy's okay now, right?"

Castiel nodded, knowing that she was referring to the late-night scare.

"We can cut back on the sedatives soon enough. I'm going to-"

"_You_ are going to need sedatives at this rate. Get the hell out, Doctor Milton. You need to sleep."

"I'm fine," he quipped, even though he knew the woman was right. Everyone had their limits; Castiel reached his about fifteen hours ago. For some reason though, he wanted to be there when his patient woke up; to reassure the man that from now on, it'd only get better, even if he could not be sure of the truth behind that statement.

He spent the majority of last night studying the man's littered with freckles, unnaturally pale face, his defined jaw line, strong cheek bones, full lips... It was hard to tell behind all the bandages, but Dean Winchester was undoubtedly a good looking man. Castiel's tired mind briefly wondered if the man had a wife or girlfriend to come home to, but he concluded that whatever other relations he'd had, they must've been far away. After all, only he and Sam remained by Dean's bed throughout the night.

Castiel shook his head briefly and focused on the monitors. His patient was stable, although still unconscious, and for whatever reason, the young doctor did not wish to leave the man's bed until he was certain he'd awaken. And yet, being a neurosurgeon, Castiel knew that there was no guarantee as to when Dean Winchester would finally open his eyes; it could take minutes, hours, even days, and surely the young doctor would have to sleep at some point too. He couldn't just stay there and wait however long it took.

He'd be of no use to anyone, not this patient and not the next, if he did not get at least three solid hours of rest, he knew that.

He left Sam to watch over his brother and went to seek out one of the doctors from his ward who was also on duty, planning to ask them to look after his patient while he'd go home to sleep in a proper bed for a few short moments. Of course Dean would be well taken care of, but it wouldn't hurt to ask, he rationalized with himself, much too tired to wonder at the reasons behind his actions.

He only hoped that it would be Michael, and not Crowley, who was on duty that day.

Castiel crossed through the clinically white halls, passed by various medical staff, until he reached the break room and found the answer to his silent question, his hopes quickly dashed as he found the one person he didn't wish to see.

He wasn't even remotely surprised to find the man napping away on the sofa, with his white coat rolled up into a pillow, snoring loudly, oblivious to the commotion that hardly ever ceased outside of the break room. Where Castiel was a workaholic, his counterpart was the exact opposite, and Cas would likely never stop shaking his head at the members of the board who not only hired this man but also promoted him, and not just once but _twice_.

Crowley was everything a doctor should never be. Lazy, with an unpredictable temper, clever in all the wrong ways and quick to indulge in everything except actual, hard work. Cas wasn't blind to the man's skills though. Undoubtedly a fantastic surgeon, Crowley had saved many lives... but what the board didn't know was that these lives were not saved for free. Crowley was completely corrupt, and to get a quick surgery done by his hands, you'd have to hash out a whole lot of money. To someone with any sort of a sense of justice, Crowley's whole personality had to be absolutely repulsive, and yet somehow, the man still managed to waste most of his time romancing the nurses instead of working.

With a sigh, Cas loomed over the snoring man and cleared his throat. Once, twice, thrice, all to no avail.

"Crowley, you are on duty," he finally reprimanded. "Why is it that every time you're at work, _I _am the one tending to your patients? It is illogical. You _do_ get paid for being here, don't you?" Castiel ranted, exhaustion and personal dislike seeping into his voice, making it even more gruff than usual.

After a few moments of this, Crowley's eyes shot open, drifting to Castiel immediately. The young doctor really did _not_ enjoy the way his arch-nemesis smiled at him just then.

"What's that then darling, did you miss me?" Crowley drawled in his foreign accent, sitting up at long last.

"I'm sure that your patients did. I'll have you know that I had to do your rounds _again_."

"But you do it so well!" Crowley exclaimed in mock admiration, then stood and patted Castiel on the back. "S'pose it's time you went home, eh? My little Meg said you've been here for a couple days now. Don't you ever wanna go out and get laid, Cassie?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and reminded himself of the reason he was there in the first place; Dean Winchester.

"I need you to look after a patient of mine. Car crash from last night, thirty-one years old. Dean Winchester. I'm going to go home for a couple of hours. All you need to do is check on him now and then. Is that clear?"

"Castiel, you act as if I do nothing when you're not around. You're breaking my little heart."

"You're wrong, Crowley. You _never_ do anything. Whether I'm around or not is quite irrelevant," Castiel retorted and turned away, adding over his shoulder, "Look after him."

Not more than forty-five minutes later, he fell on the large double bed in his very own bedroom and passed out, still wearing his white coat, too tired to even change.

Not more than ninety minutes later, Dean Winchester's pulse came to an abrupt halt.

**:~:**

Castiel hadn't awakened until ten hours later, which was exceedingly unusual for him. He hardly ever managed to sleep that long without being called in for one reason or another; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to sleep for more than five hours in a row; but this time, he slept soundly, his slumber undisturbed by all external sources.

He dragged himself out of bed, tossed the white coat aside, stripped down to his underwear and padded across his hallway. His whole one story house was a symphony of light blue combined with eclectic, pinewood furniture. Castiel liked open spaces and soft colors that did not interfere with the view right outside his windows, which happened to be pretty spectacular. He lived about fifteen miles out of town, right by the lake, with a small flight of wooden stairs going down from the porch leading to a little secluded sandy part of the shore that was not quite big enough to be called a beach but still good enough for Castiel to relax at during the very rare moments that he had the time to do so.

Today would not be one of those days, though. He'd have to go to the hospital, check on his patient, tend to the others. The usual business.

He discarded his boxer briefs and stepped into the shower, tossing his head back and slowly waking up under the warm stream of water. This was better than any cup of coffee he'd ever had, but he still would never survive if not for all the caffeine he'd been consuming on a daily basis. His mind briefly drifted away, musing over the idea of taking a holiday sometime, and then putting it aside like a book he'd had no interest in. What would he possibly do on a holiday? He'd be much better off working.

He didn't bother eating breakfast, only chugging down a cup of coffee before slipping into his car and driving to the hospital. He was surprised to not find any calls or messages waiting for him when he checked his phone, but he took that as a good sign. Perhaps, just this once, everything was alright with the world.

When Castiel pulled up to the hospital, the first thing he saw on the parking lot was a vehicle that stood out among the others. He was no good at cars, knowing only several brands, things like Fiat or Mercedes, but this one did not fall under any of the brands he'd been familiar with. It was black, sleek, old-fashioned and very handsome, if a car could ever fall under that category. He spotted a tall person standing behind it, sifting through the contents of the trunk, muttering something under their breath. Cas shrugged, locked his own Ford with the tiny pilot that came along with it, and started walking over to the entrance, only to be stopped by the giant he now knew was Sam Winchester, who apparently owned the unique black car. There was panic in his eyes, not much different from the first time he'd seen him, and Cas felt his own heart skip a beat.

Surely they'd alert him if something had happened to one of his very own patients. Surely he'd be told if Dean's state took a turn for the worse.

Surely...?

"Doctor Milton! They said you wouldn't have the time to come today?" Sam raised the question, brow furrowing, voice tinted with fear. He'd still been wearing the same clothes from when his brother was first admitted into the hospital, a simple plaid shirt combined with a pair of worn-out jeans.

" I'm not sure I understand," Cas muttered, mirroring Sam's expression. He _wouldn't have the time_? When did he _ever_ have time for anything but the hospital?

"That other surgeon, the British one, he said you can't come. There was a-well, Dean's-he's not-" Sam stuttered, no longer able to look Cas in the eyes, which was a good thing, because the rage that suddenly welled up inside the blue globes was likely to startle the younger Winchester.

Castiel grabbed Sam's arm forcefully, pulling the other man's gaze onto himself, and gritted out, "Is Dean alive, Sam?"

Sam's eyes widened at the question. Castiel should have been more delicate, but he found himself in an urgent need of knowing the truth.

"What? Of course he's alive! Do you think I'd be out here talking to you if he wasn't?" he exclaimed, forcing himself away from Castiel.

"Then what is the matter?" he urged.

"His heart, it just, it stopped beating for a moment... That other doctor, he said that... That Dean's in a coma..." Sam trailed off, clenching his fists and looking down towards the asphalt, unaware of the fact that he'd just sent Castiel's head spinning.

Cas' eyes shot wide open. Why wasn't he alerted? Dean Winchester was _his_ patient, assigned specifically to him. Castiel was the one to perform the life-saving surgeries as well as the one with the most thorough knowledge of the man's wounds. Why was he not informed?! They called him in for things a great deal smaller every single day of the week!

Then it dawned on him. _Crowley_.

He turned to walk past Sam, but first he laid his hand on the giant's shoulder and looked at him, trying to look reassuring. For some reason, he'd felt exceedingly bad for the man who so clearly cared about his brother.

"I'll look after your brother, Sam. I promise."

He then stormed off in the direction of the entrance, dead-set on showing Crowley exactly what he thought.

* * *

Castiel walked into the room, currently lit up by nothing else than a little sunlight sneaking past the heavy blinds and all the medical equipment that his patient was constantly hooked up to, now even more so, what with his recent turn for the worse.

Dean Winchester looked much the same as he did the last time Castiel had seen him, but now, with the diagnose stating that he was in a coma, Castiel knew better than anyone that the man's future could no longer be predictable. No one could be sure that Dean would wake up at any given point. Of course, those were the things they hardly ever said to the families, although Castiel knew better than to give too much hope where there could be none.

He'd seen Dean's card. The man was stable now, and only time could tell when - or if - he would open his eyes.

The young doctor walked over to the cot and looked down at the man that rested in it. He looked at peace, unmoving aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest, slightly pale, very much asleep. Castiel couldn't help but admire the man's features. A person so very loved by his brother, still so very young, he didn't deserve meeting this kind of fate.

Cas thought back to the past hour. He'd wrecked havoc in the hospital after finding out that Crowley stopped the rest of the staff from paging him under the excuse of _having it all under control_. He likely hoped to score an easy surgery that would bring him a lot of attention, but things didn't quite go as planned.

If Castiel had been here, if he'd never left, Dean may have been better by now. As it was, he wouldn't be surprised if Sam would choose to sue both Crowley and the hospital for not giving adequate care to his brother. If it came to that, Cas was already resolved to support the Winchester's case.

Why did he care so much about this one particular patient? He'd lost people before. There were many he just couldn't save. But this one, he really wanted to. Castiel was a doctor, a surgeon, but he knew that not everything had to make sense in order to still be a fact... And fact was, he'd give his very best to keep Dean Winchester alive.

He knew what the key was with coma patients. It was all up to luck, but if you talked to them, if you'd read to them and try to breach through that wall, it could help.

So he sat down in the uncomfortable chair, looking at the other man with remorse in his blue eyes. From doing various tests, he knew that Dean's eyes were green, but he'd never actually seen him with eyes wide open, never heard him speak.

Perhaps the man would at least hear him.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Castiel finally spoke up, and those were the only two words he said to his patient that night. Two simple words.

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel came and went all throughout the day and night, and he hadn't gone home when his shift came to an end. Instead, he snuck back into room 307, and watched over Dean, determined not to let anything happen to the man again.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at a Destiel fic, so please let me know if you liked it. Do keep in mind that English is not my first language, so if you spotted any kind of language slip, I'm sorry! There'll be more of this in the coming future. Reviews are inspiring! ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

Another full day at the hospital. The halls were empty as he crossed them, walking fast towards the room that was quickly becoming familiar. However, Castiel froze in his steps when he heard the sound of Sam's voice break through the silence.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. If I hadn't... Hell, if you took the Impala maybe you'd have dodged that guy..." The voice cracked and then fell silent for a moment. "Look man, I'm gonna get you out of this. Promise. I've got uncle Bobby looking up all sorts of clinics and... And you'll be up soon. We've got that Knicks game in two weeks. I'll even let you have that friggin' greasy burger that you love so much. I won't say a word. Promise. Just... Just get up, okay?" Another moment of silence. "Dean..."

Castiel withdrew, took a 180 degree turn, intent on walking away. He did not want to invade on Sam Winchester's privacy and his time with his brother, and Castiel of all people should have known that it's important for the family of the victim to be vocal, to be around, to keep trying to pull them back to life.

So far, that role fell to nobody else than Sam and Castiel, but he was a stranger to Dean, so Cas was willing to write off all the nights spent beside the man's bed as useless. His voice couldn't possibly hold any meaning to Dean, just one more sound among the cacophony of noises that he likely couldn't hear. He hardly made any difference in that sense; it was his medical knowledge that could be of use.

"Doctor Milton?" He heard the voice coming from behind him. He winced, sighed, and turned back towards room 307, peering inside to find Sam looking at him intently.

"Please, Sam. Just call me Castiel." He took four steps and sat beside the younger Winchester without any ceremony. Dean had been in the hospital for a week now, and Cas hasn't gone home since the disastrous night when his patient fell into a coma, so he was a frequent visitor and thus did not really bother with etiquette any longer.

Sam offered him a tired smile. He too spent the majority of his time at the hospital, only leaving once to pick up a change of clothes and a few other things. Normally families were not allowed to stay past the visiting hours, but since Castiel felt responsible for the current state of his patient, he managed to negotiate an exception for the man's brother. As a result, Sam was allowed to either sleep in the chair in Dean's room or on the cot that Cas usually used for taking a nap at the hospital.

It was alright, Castiel barely slept anyway, and when Sam was asleep, Cas was either working or looking after the elder Winchester. It all worked out.

His eyes flitted towards the various monitors completely out of habit. Nothing out of the norm, and he couldn't tell if that was good or bad. He longed to see a change in his patient, but obviously, only one that's for the better.

Sam nodded at Cas' request to be called by his first name and then turned back to Dean.

"How is he?" Castiel asked.

"He's much the same, I guess. I've been playing him some of his favorite songs on his iPod. That's okay, right? I mean, music. He loves music. He's always rocking out to all these rock bands while driving. AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Kansas... Or Led Zeppelin. He'd sell his soul for a signed record of Led Zepp."

Castiel registered that bit of information, adding it to his little compendium of knowledge about Dean Winchester. His mental drawer filled with the man's files was growing every single day. It was as if he knew the man without ever exchanging as much as one word with him.

Perhaps he never would, considering the circumstances.

He gritted his teeth, looking away from both the Winchesters, then suddenly remembered that he hadn't actually addressed Sam's question yet.

"Music is fine. It often helps. I'd say you should sing to him, but I don't suppose you will."

Sam chuckled tiredly and then shook his head.

"I think I'd need to drink a whole lot of beer for that. On the upside, Dean might wake up just to punch me in the face and tell me to shut the hell up."

"Beer is not very healthy, Sam," Castiel remarked, "And I don't think your brother would punch you. That's rather violent."

The other man blinked in response and then chuckled again, puzzling the young doctor.

"Yeah, that's why I'm not gonna drink a gallon of it and start singing here. And you don't know my brother. We've been throwing punches since I was three," Sam said wistfully, eyes back on Dean.

Castiel shook his head. No, he really didn't know Dean at all.

"It's past midnight," Sam remarked after a moment of silence.

"Yes." Castiel rolled up his sleeve to check the time. "12:18 AM."

"Don't you ever go home? I've seen you here every day for like a week."

He chanced a glance at the tall man, then looked back towards his patient.

"I have a lot of work."

The Winchester shot him a weird look.

"Not even Dean works as much as you do. I mean, sure sometimes he does, but it's not like an every day sort of thing."

That comment sparked Castiel's interest enough to provoke a question.

"What does your brother do?"

"He's in the, err, the truck business. You know, transport, that sort of thing?" Castiel nodded in reply. "It's a family business. I was gonna be in it too, but I sort of flunked out and went to college. My old man was really disappointed."

Castiel spent enough time talking to Sam during the past week to know that a comment about the man's parents was rare and usually very generic, so this too made him wonder. The other man, as if on cue, looked at the doctor and sighed heavily.

"I never really got to make my peace with him. He's gone. Passed away a few years back. Dean runs the company now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said genuinely.

"Thanks."

The men fell silent, but once again it was Sam who broke the silence. Cas didn't mind it, but he liked peace and quiet. He wasn't one to find silence uncomfortable; on the contrary, he'd often wonder why some people found it awkward.

"Back when dad was still in charge, Dean would always be driving the trucks," Sam said, eyes glued to his brother. "He drove all around the country. I'd go with him when I had some time off college."

"That must have been quite the experience," Castiel commented inconsequentially, trying to picture his patient driving a monster truck, one of those eight or six wheelers, windows rolled down, wind messing with the man's blonde hair, some unfamiliar rock song playing in the background.

"Yeah, it was. Dean always blasted all that old music on full volume and we just drove from place to place."

Castiel was surprised by how accurate his own mental picture of the situation proved to be.

Sam soon continued, "But when dad died, Dean had to run things, you know? He doesn't drive the trucks much anymore. But we still take trips in the Impala. It's awesome."

"Impala?" Cas asked, thrown off-course.

"It's a car. You know, the black car in the parking lot?" Oh, yes. That car. A nod sufficed for a response; Sam soon followed up. "Dean loves that thing. She was dad's car too, but Dean got her for his 21st birthday. He calls her his baby."

Castiel found that his head was beginning to spin with all the newly absorbed information. Why did he find this Dean Winchester so interesting? What was he doing sitting around here with the man's brother, picking up little pieces of a life he'd never lived?

He was tired. That must have been it. Tiredness, exhaustion, too much work. Despite checking in on Dean every so often, he still had to work just as much as he did before... Not to mention having to deal with Crowley and his ragtag crew of supporters that were even more relentless than usual when it came to messing with the so called Doctor Milton. Castiel had entered a warpath with Crowley the moment he questioned the man's dedication to his work and when he decided to support the Winchesters if the case would ever end up in court.

Although, Sam didn't quite seem like the vengeful type and Castiel wasn't going to be the one to suggest a lawsuit to the younger Winchester. In fact, he rarely spoke first, instead opting to simply keep him company and check in when he found the time to make sure that Dean was alright.

Sleep. He needed to go to sleep. He couldn't just live at the hospital. There were nurses, there were other people, somebody would help Dean if something bad were to happen again.

He'd go home tonight, he'd go home and sleep and he would try not to worry and-

"Listen, man, I think I'm gonna go crash. Is that okay? Should I sleep here? You really need to go get some rest, you know."

Cas caught his breath, held it in for a moment, and then released it in one long, tired exhale. If Sam wouldn't be watching over Dean, then he would have to stay. He knew that there was no bribe effective enough to get one of the nurses to sit with a coma patient for a whole night when they could be watching television in the company of the rest of the staff.

"I'm alright. Go to sleep, Sam. I'll keep an eye on De-... Your brother."

Sam studied him for a moment, the man's green eyes piercing Castiel with their intensity. He didn't know people well enough to be able to tell what Sam was thinking about, but whatever it was, it ended in a nod and a quiet _good night_.

He was left alone with his patient again.

The room was dark, as it often was at this time of the night, just a single lamp on the nightstand to clear the shadow. Outside the single window, behind those heavy blinds, Castiel could probably see the sky if he wanted, perhaps even the stars. It was summer, not a cloud in sight, and if he were at home right now, he'd likely go out to sit on the porch and enjoy the sounds of nature that surrounded him. But he wasn't home, and he wasn't likely to go home within the next twelve hours, so he focused on his difficult case of a patient, Dean Winchester.

Cas has had his fair share of hard cases during his time at the Winged Heart hospital. He dealt with coma patients, with deaths on the operating table, with children he just couldn't save... He remembered these people, what little he knew of them, it just tends to stick. Little pieces of them never left Castiel's mind.

Not one of them captured his lasting interest the way Dean did, though. Right here, in the middle of the night, he felt as though he was breaking some unspoken rule, without as much as moving out of that green, back-breaking chair. Then again, it's only been a week, and he was merely looking out for his patient. He felt guilty for the man's current state, although if anybody was to be at fault, it was not him; it was Crowley.

But he should have known better than to rely on Crowley not to neglect a patient he particularly asked him to take good care of...

A weary sigh escaped his lips, undoubtedly not the first and not the last to grace them that day.

"Why was your brother apologizing to you earlier?" Castiel asked quietly, breaking the silence, but knowing better than to expect a response. "He seems like a good man, Dean. From what he says, you are much the same."

A blonde, green-eyed man who stayed by his father's side while Sam pursued a different kind of future. Castiel wouldn't condemn either brother for their choices, but he couldn't help but wonder if Dean never wanted to build a life of his own, away from the family business. Heaven knows Castiel left home earlier than most people in his family.

He scoffed. What could he possibly know? He was a nobody to the Winchesters. He'd known the younger Winchester for all of one week, and his brother became a strange fixation, because it was a life he failed to save, a whole future stuck in suspension due to him simply not being there.

Meg, the nurse, she said that he couldn't possibly know if Dean would be okay if only he, Castiel, were there when the man's heart stopped beating. Cas knew that she was right, that she took the rational approach while he was strangely getting carried away, but he still blamed himself for putting any sort of trust in his fellow doctor.

"Should I read you something?"

Silence.

"I don't know what you like to read. Or do. In fact, I don't know you at all."

He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to think. He couldn't remember any non-medical books he'd read recently. He liked to read back in his teenage years, but when he started med school he begun the usual routine of study, sleep, wake up, go to class, rinse and repeat. And now that he was a recognized persona in the world of neurosurgery, he spent more time preparing research papers than reading an actual newspaper, let alone a whole book.

"Your brother said that you like music. I don't know any of the bands he mentioned, though."

Castiel sat back in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles, trying to find a little bit of comfort. He placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"I used to sing when I was in high school. My brother Gabriel bought me a guitar." His eyes flew open. "I never mentioned having a brother, did I? I have a brother. Seven years my senior."

He cursed the damn chair he was sitting in, determined to steal a better one from the break room later during the night.

"I also had a dog. He was called Alfie. But I don't have Alfie anymore."

Cas straightened up, as if in alarm that Dean would somehow hear him and judge him the wrong way. "I don't mean that I gave him up, Dean. He was just very old. I had to put him down last year."

Silence.

"I miss Alfie."

Well, not complete silence. Castiel could still hear the steady _beep_ of the heart rate monitor. No changes there.

"Do you ever sing, Dean?"

He tried to imagine the sound of his patient's voice. What did Dean Winchester sound like? What did he look like when he was smiling? Would Cas ever know?

"I haven't sang in years..."

The door suddenly burst open in a very loud manner, followed by equally loud footsteps and an even louder exclamation of _'Oh, look who's here!'_. Castiel flew to his feet and turned around, unknowingly tensing his whole body, his gaze growing stern when he saw Crowley.

"Still haven't gone home? Boy's special, huh?" Crowley glanced at Dean, then walked over to the cot and started checking all the machines the patient was hooked up to.

"Be quiet, it's the middle of the night," Castiel chastened, wanting to tell Crowley to get out but keeping his lips shut.

"What for? It's not like Dean here is going to wake up and complain, now is it?" Crowley chuckled darkly, then grew serious when he laid a hand on the man's forehead, as if double-checking the temperature.

"If he doesn't, it'll all be thanks to _you_," Cas gritted out, holding on to his composure with the very last of his patience.

The other doctor turned right around and regarded Castiel with amusement.

"What was I to do? These things happen, Milton. You know it. Just because you've got some sort of a queer crush on the bloke doesn't mean he's going to be alright. That's life, darlin'."

Castiel ignored Crowley's snappy remark. He had been working with the man for almost seven years; he heard much worse on a daily basis.

"You should have operated right away, but you were too busy playing around in the broom closet. You're lucky that the family hasn't sued you yet."

"What family?" Crowley scoffed. "You mean that tall moose that sits here day in, day out? Don't think he blames me quite the same way that you do. Some people know what it's like to be a doctor, Cassie. It's all work and no play. Things are bound to happen."

Now it was Castiel's turn to raise his voice, because Crowley was pushing his limits. He closed the distance between the two of them and pulled the aggravating man by the lapels. His features twisted in anger, brows furrowed, sparks hidden within his bright blue eyes, the corners of his lips turned downwards. They were of similar height, with Castiel being a little bit taller, so he had the perfect opportunity to witness the effect that his actions had on Crowley; the man looked surprised at best and scared at worst.

Good.

"All work and no play! _You_ would know about that! Don't think I don't know about the medication you've been stealing, Crowley. You're walking on thin ice here. One more - I repeat, _one_ - mistake and I will personally see to you getting fired. Now get out, you've done enough harm."

Crowley pushed him away abruptly and hurriedly smoothed the wrinkles on his white coat, then shot Castiel a look that knew no mercy.

"If that's how you want to play it, Castiel," he said, "Then that's _exactly_ how we'll play it. See you soon, darlin'."

He swung the door open and left in a huff. Castiel released the breath he had been holding for much too long and slumped back in the chair, no longer looking at Dean.

He always resorted to helping the patients and staying out of Crowley's way, quietly cleaning up his messes and going about his work without any particular drama.

What happened now? What is the difference?

"I should call Gabriel," he mumbled.

He glanced at Dean again and reached out to correct his patient's blanket, then sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, soon drifting away into a dreamless slumber.

**:~:**

After another three days of not leaving the hospital, the Head of the Ward, Michael, took a sudden interest in Castiel (which he was quick to attribute to Crowley) and declared that he'd _"better start working normal hours before somebody forces him to"_. Castiel wasn't stupid and took the hint, but not before leaving Sam his number in case of an emergency as well as spending over half an hour making sure that Meg understood the gravity of the situation.

"Christ Cas, you got it bad. It's really not your fault. Get over it, you've got a surgery in two days, remember? You need to be sane if you wanna operate."

He knew, he understood, but he still said: "Just make sure Crowley's nowhere near him. I talked to Michael and he promised that he'd-"

"Just _go_."

Castiel nodded in defeat, swung his bag over the shoulder and stepped out into the sunlit asphalt in front of the hospital.

It was summer, the sun was scorching hot, burning right into his fair skin. Castiel never cared for high temperatures much. He liked mild weather, not too warm and not too cold, combined with a fresh breeze; something that'd allow him to wear his favorite suit and trenchcoat combo that he often wore outside of work. At the hospital, he wasn't given much room for creativity. Dress shirts, slacks, white coat. Before long, he adapted a similar style in his private life, but the current heat called for t-shirts rather than the clothes he usually liked to wear.

He'd really call Gabriel, he decided. If seeing his patient had taught him anything, it was that he'd hate to switch places with Sam Winchester - to be stuck in a situation with no certain way out. The least he could do was to make sure Gabe was doing fine.

He produced a mobile phone out of his pocket, dialed the number he had memorized on the day he bought himself the phone, got into the car and attached the phone to the loud speaker while driving out of the parking lot.

_"Yo, little bro!" _came the familiar voice from the handset after three signals.

"Hello Gabriel," he said calmly.

He hadn't talked to his brother in a couple of weeks.

It's not that they had a fight, it's just-

_"Thought you'd never call. Beer? Tonight? Whaddya say? Let's cause some trouble! Find some ladies. Or not ladies. Whichever. Dude, it's been waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long. Multiple a's. Big deal."_

Castiel allowed himself a soft chuckle. That was exactly why they haven't really spoken. Their lifestyles varied so much - Castiel worked impossibly long shifts and hardly ever had time to himself, Gabriel rarely ever worked and spent his days exactly the way he wanted. But Dean, without having said a word to him, taught him a lesson, thanks to which Castiel was determined to spend his oh-so-rare night off with his big brother.

"I was thinking of something slightly more civil," he admitted, eyes on the road. "But yes, we can meet. Should I drive over to your place?"

_"Naaa, I'm already on my way to the bar! Meet me at Rickey's in twenty. I'll be the gorgeous man with a red rose. Don't be late!"_

At this, the sound of his brother hanging up on him filled Castiel's ear, and then there was silence.

Why not, he thought. He might as well go.

* * *

Everything looked much the same as the last time Cas went to Rickey's, a local bar, famous for nothing whatsoever. The menu was the same as everywhere else - burgers, beer, bacon, pancakes, shots for those that felt more adventurous, peanuts to go with your booze and the occasional pie. The interior, the patrons, the waiting staff, even the owner of the bar did not stand out in any way in particular. Castiel, without having traveled the whole world, was still convinced that bars such as Rickey's were all over the place, around every other corner, and in all honesty, his assumption was not very exaggerated. Even Gabriel looked much the same as always; brown hair, huge grin, casual wear - the exact opposite of his younger brother.

When Cas arrived, Gabe already had a beer waiting for him, as well as a burger in the making. The young man smiled at the thought; Gabriel was never the most thoughtful person out there, but he did know what Cas liked the most, and one of those things had to be a good burger.

The first twenty or so minutes passed by on idle chatter; Gabe going on and on about his newest flame, a much older woman from California (who apparently did not stop him from picking up "_ladies, or not ladies, whichever_"), and Castiel nodding every now and again while eating his dinner. At long last however, Gabriel got bored of talking about himself and took a long, _I-see-everything_ sort of look at his brother.

"You're awfully quiet, bro. Whassup? What's the matter? You still working yourself to death over there?" Gabriel asked, full focus on Castiel.

Cas winced. He didn't want to start ranting about the hospital the way he usually did, but the moment his thoughts went that way, all he could think of was his unusual patient and the fact that Dean was left largely unsupervised.

"I have a patient, Gabriel," he said, swallowing the last of his burger and wiping his face with a napkin. "Dean Winchester. He is in a coma."

Gabriel glanced at the ceiling in a thoughtful manner and then asked, "Ain't he the one who runs that truck company? What's it called again? Roadhouse Delivery? I hear they're good."

Castiel felt his heart start beating faster at the slightest mention of his patient. He sometimes had to remind himself that Dean had a life before he ended up at the Winged Heart hospital, and for whatever reason, Cas was eager to hear more about it.

"Perhaps."

"So what about this Winchester boy, then? I mean, sure it's a bummer, but you've had people in a coma before. Hell, you still have that old dude who's been in a coma for like what, twenty years?" Gabriel waved at the waitress and then kept talking, "What's the big deal now?"

What is? Castiel didn't know. That was the problem. He just didn't know.

"It's... It's saddening, Gabriel. He is a young man. His brother, Sam, just sits by his bed all day long." Castiel took a long sip of his beer. "And if not for Crowley-"

"Oh, no, no, no," Gabriel protested loudly, placing his hand over the younger brother's mouth. "You're _not_ gonna talk about Crowley again! Dude's a jackass, that's all."

Castiel pushed Gabe away and wiped his mouth in disgust, finding that his brother had smeared ketchup all over his face.

"Fine," he said when he was done cleaning up, "But that doesn't change the fact that an innocent man may never regain consciousness again, and there is not much that I can do to help that."

Gabriel regarded him for a moment, then said, "Hey, we're all innocent to some degree. It's just how it is. Don't guilt trip yourself, you're never gonna get laid with that attitude. It's unattractive."

Castiel let out a weary sigh and fell back into the chair, running slender fingers through his hair.

"I don't care, Gabriel. However, I don't suppose you will listen to me now any more than you ever used to."

"Just looking out for you, little bro." He winked at the waitress that was over at the bar, earning himself a giggle in return. "It's pretty great."

Cas wasn't all that eager to share his experiences with his big brother, so he opted for staying silent, aside from ordering another beer when the waitress came over and finally stopped making googly eyes at Gabe. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his patient out of his mind. The guilt would simply not leave him alone.

Gabriel respected his wish to stay silent for a while, but when they both got their refill, the older man spoke up.

"Hey," he said, voice strangely soft. "So what's bothering you about this Dean dude?"

Half a minute passed before Castiel gathered the courage to meet his brother's knowing eyes.

"I feel guilty. I should've been there to save him."

"Can't always be there. You practically live there as it is!" Gabriel lowered his voice before speaking again. "It's not your fault, Cas."

Hearing that nickname was very rare for Castiel and it stirred something deep within him. Neither he nor Gabriel were usually known for having heartfelt conversations. The whole evening started to feel out of place.

"Perhaps. I still feel that way, though." He took another sip of his beer and noted with surprise that he'd already downed half of it.

"That Dean, he's kind of important, isn't he?" Gabe asked after a brief pause, a smirk on his lips.

Great, now Castiel choked on his drink. Wonderful.

"He's not," Cas retorted after gathering his bearings. "Not more so than any other patient of mine."

"Mhmmm," his brother responded. It seemed as though he suddenly lost interest and started playing with his phone, but that still did not stop Castiel from elaborating on the subject.

"He's not, Gabriel. I've never even exchanged a single word with the man. I only know his brother, who is a very civil person, and-"

"Is that him?" Gabriel interrupted, showing Cas the screen of his phone. "May the Lord bless social media! A _Sam Winchester _tagged your little sleeping beauty in this. Damn, he's not bad looking. You've got some good taste. Runs in the family, eh?"

Castiel found himself feeling dumbstruck when he realized what he was looking at. It was a picture of Dean Winchester, but not the Dean he saw every day for the past ten days; this man was very much alive, not the lifeless figure he left at the hospital less than three hours ago.

This Dean had little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and their green color was so much more lively than it seemed when Castiel ran a few tests on him on that first day, and he was grinning from ear to ear, a honest smile unlike any that Cas ever experienced. He was sitting behind the wheel, but not one bit focused on the road, eyes on whoever took the picture.

His heart stuttered for a moment.

Dean was a patient. In a coma. Because of him not being there to save him.

Dean was a _patient_.

Dean was _his_ patient.

He had to fix what was now broken.

"I apologize, but I have to go," he announced, pulling thirty bucks out of his wallet and hurriedly leaving the bar despite his brother's insistent protests.

Finding a cab did not take long; Castiel wasn't reckless, he never drove under influence. The journey home felt as though it lasted forever, but once he did barge in through his very own front door, he wasted no time at going to his study and opening up the first book related to Dean's condition that he could find.

He'd pull Dean out of this, even if he had to go to hell and back to bring him home.

Castiel did not sleep a wink that night.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your positive feedback! How are you liking the story so far? I'll have to warn you that I'm more of the type to post longer chapters, and I try to write when I can, but I often work for 12 hours a day. :( So yeah, a review brightens my tired soul! See you soon with chapter 3 ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So, so sorry for the long delay. As a thank-you and I'm-so-sorry you get a longer chapter this time around. Let us hope it'll be a blessing and not a curse! All feedback is welcome. I work waaay too much, but you guys brighten my day with your reviews, follows and favs :)

* * *

"By the looks of it, we were successful," Castiel said, setting down the last of his tools. He didn't bother to look at the doctors who were assisting him, nor did he bother with the nurses. There was no congratulatory handshake, nor a respectful nod of the head, just him, getting ready to leave. He took one last glance at his patient, a boy who was just under thirteen years old, and smiled warmly at the sedated child, only to leave the room without another word.

It was a long, exhausting surgery, but if everything went well, it would have been worth it. Castiel didn't expect any complications in this case, not like with his other patient, not like with Dean.

He had to force himself to sleep last night; two sleeping pills did the trick. He wouldn't risk sabotaging another life the way both he and Crowley did with the man who was still fast asleep. Performing a surgery meant that his brain had to be much less hazy and less centered on all the absorbed information about what could possibly be of use to the elder Winchester, he knew that, so he set the books aside and forced his eyes shut.

He rarely ever dreamed, but last night, all he could see in his slumber was that smiling face Gabriel showed him but two days ago, the face he could not be certain anybody would ever see again. He wrote off the strange dreams as a side-effect of taking sleeping pills.

As for Dean's condition, he researched the subject extensively. Of course, he knew a great deal about coma patients, both from med school and from experience, but such cases were never Castiel's particular field of work. It was Michael who specialized in these, but if you'd ask Cas, his so called _specializing _resorted to the not so very effective method of _wait and see_, and that was something Castiel was quite unwilling to do.

He had a brief meeting with the parents of the boy he just operated, Tommy, and assured them that given time, their son would most likely be looking at a full recovery. He didn't stick around for the tears of joy from the mother and a grateful pat on the back from the father, though. It was enough that they knew, he didn't need their thank you's; to him, sustaining life was the ultimate goal, not the praise or the financial rewards. That, plus he was in quite a hurry. He had been waiting to see Dean the whole day. Since Michael told him to take a day off two days ago, he hadn't gone to see his patient.

Castiel was so used to seeing only Sam - if anyone at all - beside Dean's bed by now, that seeing two women along with a man in a wheelchair took him by surprise. The women were both blonde and looked much alike, one decidedly younger than the other. The man was probably well into his fifties and had a somber look on his face. Aside from the visitors, he saw the younger Winchester standing around somewhere in the corner.

"Why didn't you call us, Sam? I don't get it! Man, uncle Bobby's said it's been two weeks! What the hell's wrong with you!" the younger woman shouted across the room without leaving Dean's bedside.

"Jo!" the older one chastened.

Just as Castiel was about to withdraw, Sam's keen eye spotted him again. Seemingly being seen without meaning to was becoming some sort of a routine for Cas lately.

"Doctor Milton!" Sam exclaimed with audible relief, "Come in, please!"

Castiel sighed, cleared his throat and entered the room, finding himself uneasy under the scrutiny of so many pairs of eyes. He looked much the same as usual - slightly disheveled dark hair, white dress shirt, black slacks and his white coat. There'd be nothing for him to feel ashamed of, but he was still fidgety, knowing that whoever these people were, they'd already heard of him and more likely than not established their own opinions on whether their loved one's state was his fault. The fact that Cas thought himself guilty of it did nothing to ease his current anxiety.

Almost immediately, the younger of the two women, seemingly named Jo, ran right up to him with worry plainly written all over her face. He took note of her tear-stained cheeks and felt guilt pierce him again with a brand new kind of intensity.

Dean had more people in his life than just Sam. In fact, he surely had more people in his life than Castiel ever would.

And he, Castiel, he failed all these people by not saving Dean from falling into a coma. There was no other way of putting it; in Castiel's eyes, it was a fact.

"Doctor Milton? You're the guy who looks after Dean? Is he going to be okay?" Jo showered him with questions right off the bat.

"Jo, calm down," Sam pleaded and walked over to them, followed by the other woman in the room, while the man in the wheelchair opted to stay where he was, eyes on the sleeping Winchester.

Castiel didn't know how to handle questions of the sort. He wasn't one to lie, nor would he brush off the inquiries entirely, because he did want to bring the families some sort of comfort. Whoever these people were, Dean mattered to them, but his brother Sam never mentioned them. Who was this young, energetic blonde? A wife, girlfriend perhaps? They haven't found a wedding ring in the man's belongings, but not everybody liked to wear those.

"There are no certainties when it comes to coma patients," Castiel said lowly after a long pause.

"But Sam said-"

"That's _exactly_ what I said, Jo," Sam intercepted. "Doctor Milton-"

"Castiel," he pitched in patiently. Sam just wouldn't start calling him by his first name, despite seeing him nearly every day for the past two weeks.

"Yeah, um, well, this is Ellen Harvelle." He bobbed his head in the general direction older woman who gave Cas a curt nod. "And that's her daughter Jo," he added quietly.

"Castiel Milton," he said, counting down the seconds until he could leave. He'd come back later when they'd all left. The current situation wouldn't even allow him to sit down and greet Dean the way he usually did, let alone do anything else.

Greet Dean the usual way... He scoffed internally. Yet another thing that seemingly was becoming a routine... And while Cas loved to go by the routine, he took a long time to establish one in the first place. Things that once came into his life had to stick around for a while for him to consider them to be a regular sort of thing. Why was he already used to visiting his patient every few hours?

"The old man in the corner is Bobby Singer," Sam said, earning himself nothing else than a grunt from the man in question.

"Sam hadn't told us about Dean's condition. We just found out from Bobby," said the woman named Ellen, casting a sideways glance at the younger Winchester, not even attempting to hide her - almost motherly - disappointment.

"I'm sorry. It's been crazy over here. I just want Dean to get better..." he trailed off, looking straight at Cas.

Cas averted his gaze, excused himself by claiming he's got work waiting for him, and left them alone after a quick nod.

All these people, a past and a future, all of them centered around Dean. He'd best get back to his research.

**:~:**

Since that first visit, visitors started pouring in almost every single day, and without even meaning to, Castiel had met a lot of the people that Dean was familiar with. He hardly knew who they were - although he learned from Sam that Bobby, Ellen and Jo were good friends of the family, even if the way Jo looked at Dean told him that there was more to it than Sam let on - but regardless, they were the people who mattered, and people who actually _knew_ Dean.

That's right, Castiel continuously had to remind himself that he did not, in fact, know Dean at all.

He met Lisa who came over with her son Ben and her husband whose name Cas failed to remember; they didn't stay long, but she cried very loudly. There was also Benny, who claimed to be a really good friend of Dean, and Adam, whom he found sitting by the man's bedside on his own one afternoon, and who refused to allow him to call Sam, saying it'd be better if they hadn't met.

Tiny little pieces where lives entwined filled in the gaps in his knowledge about Dean, but it was all still theory, and Castiel couldn't tell why he longed to find things out through practice rather than hearing stories, but he did.

After a middle-aged woman by the name of Missouri finally left the room one evening, Castiel was able to be left alone with his patient, knowing that Sam would be asleep for the next few hours. As for Dean, he had been there for almost three weeks now.

"Hello, Dean," he said, staring down at the sleeping man. His patient was pale, his breathing slow and steady underneath the snow white sheet. Castiel's eyes lingered on Dean's face, taking note of the long eyelashes, the plump shape of his lips, the exact positioning of all the freckles that stood out among the ashen color of his skin, thinking to himself how strangely familiar that face had become to him.

A worn out sigh escaped him.

"Dean, my belief is that we should operate again," he whispered, as if anybody else were to hear him. "I will talk to your brother about it tomorrow. Michael claims that we need to wait, but that won't help. We need to ease the swelling inside your skull. That, in turn, may be the catalyst to you waking up."

He started pacing around the room, hands behind his back. A few frantic moments passed before he stopped, turned abruptly to face Dean again, and spoke in a rough, pained sort of voice.

"I have done my research, Dean. I have read countless papers. I even called the state hospital to seek the opinion of those that work there." Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Everything was so quiet. "And I'm... I am not certain... Nobody could ever be certain that the operation will be successful. You may live and wake up, or you may die on the operating table."

His breath got stuck in a heavy block down his throat, only to finally come out in short, ragged gasps. A racing stream of thoughts filled his mind with a chaotic mess.

Why was he so invested in this particular patient? He wouldn't second guess the statistics if it was anybody else. Death was a risk that came along with almost every single surgical interference. He knew that. He also knew that it was often the only way to save a life.

Why did the thought of fully losing Dean paralyze him?

He sat down on the edge of the bed and turned towards the patient. He always felt as though he were pushing boundaries by being around Dean, but in truth, he had never stepped out of line.

His eyes fell on the man's face again. The initial stubble was slowly growing into a short beard, making him seem older than he really was - the same age as Castiel, three months his senior.

"Perhaps Michael is right," he muttered. "Perhaps it is better if we just wait."

Safer, surely, but how long could this state last? The longer it would go on, the lower would be the chances that Dean would ever come back to normalcy.

"Maybe if..." he trailed off for an instant. "If we delay a while longer."

The silence that filled the claustrophobically small room was overwhelming to Castiel. He did not like the feeling of being powerless, weak and useless, but that was the way he felt for the past three weeks. Like a fish out of water, or a bird who had their wings clipped. He was out of his element, out of place, and unable to comprehend his own feelings and actions.

Who was he trying to fool? That was the way he'd been feeling for years, ever since he...

No, Castiel. _Stop_.

"What do you think is right, Dean?" He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, running tired fingers through his messy hair. "I have found that I am not very prone to taking risks. Gabriel always says that I am a dull person."

The corners of his lips lifted in a soft grin.

"Perhaps that is why, unlike my brother, I have never gotten arrested."

He allowed himself to succumb to the surrounding quiet and sat idly, pondering the options, the decisions which were not even his to make. He'd have to present the possibilities to Sam and let the man, who seemed to be the closest living relative of Dean's, make the choice. The best thing he could do was to try and relay all the information as clearly as possible and to attempt to remain unbiased despite his own, albeit irrational, worry for Dean.

That's right, because the decisions were reserved for the people that played a role in the man's life. He was merely a surgeon, the one that knew how to use all the tools, and previously, he was always fine with that.

He just really didn't want to lose Dean...

Castiel knew that it was important to stay vocal and keep talking around a coma patient, but he ran out of things to say that were suitable for other people to hear, asleep or not. His thoughts revolved around the possibilities, around the future, but there was only so much that could be said on the matter, this or any other.

So instead of speaking, he started humming. Almost without meaning to; a soft melody that he must have made up on the spot, with no real words to go along with it. It was a slightly sullen sort of tone, but he found it uplifting all the same, because it had been years since he last did anything that could be even remotely artistic. Music was art, and there was hardly any time for it in his life these days.

He barely noticed when his humming turned into proper singing. He sang songs that he remembered from his past, in a voice that was rough, torn, beaten down by the things he found could not be helped. However, the longer this went on, the stronger were the melodies that escaped his parched throat.

When he was done, he found himself smiling. It was a rare sight, and in truth, he was happy that there was nobody around to witness it. They'd surely comment on it, they always did when he grinned - questions such as _"Wow, Castiel, you're smiling! What happened?" _that always washed the smile right off his face. He did not enjoy explaining his emotions to others. He simply wanted to be, to exist, and if he could only do so undisturbed when he was alone, then so be it.

So he smiled - he smiled at Dean, his ever silent, unknowing companion - and instinctively grabbed the man's hand, giving it a soft squeeze. Dean's hands were big, calloused, but strangely enough, Cas found that they fit right into his own.

Of course, upon that realization, he pulled away so quickly that one might think it was liquid fire that ran through Dean's veins instead of plain old human blood.

Dean was his _patient_.

_For God's sake, get a grip, Castiel!_

He stood up abruptly and bolted out of the room within the next ten seconds, nothing but the sound of his hurried footsteps left to fill the silent halls.

**:~:**

"So you think it'd be best to operate?" Sam asked, casting a glance at his sleeping brother.

Castiel did not allow himself the luxury of looking the same way, but he still found it hard to nod. He didn't want that responsibility - he had it before and what happened? Both he and Crowley failed the Winchesters. He did not want that to happen again, in a way so much more drastic than the last time, so when the night had passed, he came back to room 317 to discuss the options with the younger of the two brothers.

"I believe that it could help your brother awaken from the coma, yes," Castiel responded levelly, "But it could also be dangerous, Sam. It is a rather advanced surgery. I cannot guarantee success."

Sam's green eyes met Castiel's blue ones, looking at the young doctor with a desperate kind of intensity. Cas understood. Sam didn't want to make that choice either.

But somebody had to, and it couldn't be an unrelated doctor from a hospital Dean has never been to before. It had to be Sam.

"Do you know if Dean... If Dean's ever gonna wake up without that surgery?" Castiel opened his mouth as if to speak, but Sam raised a hand to stop him. "Honest, doctor. Give it to me straight."

Cas nodded slowly and then quietly said, "I cannot be sure. There is no way to know. There are no certainties."

Sam's fists clenched hard enough that his knuckles turned white. The man looked away from Castiel, gritted his teeth and turned to stare at the tiles on the ground, then shot another brief glance at his brother. Cas could see his entire thought process written all over the young man's face. Without knowing him long, Castiel already knew Sam to be an open, easy-going sort of person, not one to conceal his emotions very well.

He wanted to help, but he simply didn't know how.

Silence filled the room for a moment that felt like a whole eternity to Castiel. He knew that Sam was weighing the decision in his head, perhaps making the choice between life or death for Dean. Again, that feeling of being powerless overtook him, allowing him to do no more than just to stand there and wait for Sam to tell him the verdict.

Finally, a hint of resolve lit up in the giant's eyes, and he met Castiel's intent gaze with conviction.

"Dean would want this. He wouldn't wanna be stuck like this for hell knows how long," Sam said. "Do it, Castiel."

Castiel bowed his head slightly in response. That was it. The decision was made. He handed Sam the form of consent that had to be signed and excused himself from the room.

The next few days would be filled with preparation, barely any sleep and, although he'd hate to admit it, more than a small dose of anxiety.

* * *

Castiel's first task related to the upcoming surgery was to fit it into his tight schedule ahead of the line. Since Dean's life was no longer in immediate danger, the urgent procedures would have to take place first. There was rarely a day when he didn't have to operate.

Secondly, he couldn't do it all on his own. A team of doctors had to be assembled, and this was mostly out of Cas' hands. It was up to Michael, the head of the ward, to assign the team. Obviously, Castiel would be the main doctor in charge - Dean was his patient, after all - but having to cooperate with Crowley would be next to impossible at this point. Castiel had done his best to avoid the man, and it wasn't all that hard, considering that Crowley still spent most of his time napping away in the break room or chasing after the more attractive nurses.

Castiel scoffed. Was Michael completely, utterly blind? The man should have been fired years ago, but Cas would not play a part in it until Crowley crossed his path again. For the time being, aside from the usual nasty gossip, Crowley left him in peace.

Castiel's hands nervously played with the buttons of his white coat as he stood in front of Michael's desk. Michael was approaching his fifties, a tall, slender man whose dark hair was slowly turning gray, and who always managed to project an aura of authority wherever he went. Castiel had a lot of respect for Michael, but he couldn't help but disagree with some of his decisions. A bothersome feeling down in the pit of his stomach told him that this would turn out to be yet another choice for him to disagree with.

He was wrong. Crowley was scheduled to operate another patient that day, so Castiel would be left with two assistant doctors whom he did not mind. Upon leaving Michael's office, after hearing the senior doctor's opinion on the matter (which was, unsurprisingly so, negative), Cas breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, all there was left to do was to wait.

And Castiel absolutely _hated_ waiting, especially so if he was waiting for the unknown.

The procedure was scheduled for the upcoming week, on a Thursday. Thursdays were generally good days for Castiel - the few happy events he could recall in his life all happened to take place on a Thursday - but that little, fairly useless fact did not make him any less anxious. He had a life in his hands, a life he really wanted to save, and he knew that he'd hardly be able to sleep the night prior to the surgery, his mind too ridden with worry to allow him to rest. He felt entirely unprofessional and tried, tried _hard_ to distance himself from the situation. It wasn't easy to do.

Cas kept Sam up to date on all the things related to Dean's state, and Sam, in turn, took better care of keeping Dean's friends posted. Castiel also went over the procedure several times with the doctors who would assist him, not to mention bothering the nurses, for which he was rather severely scolded by Meg. He read and re-read the papers, he talked to Michael, he checked, double and triple-checked the results of Dean's blood tests. He was ready. He reached the point where there was nothing more to do than simply to wait.

He visited Dean every night. The man, always fast asleep, still managed to provide Castiel with plenty of distraction; in fact, more distraction than Cas would care to admit. In turn, the young doctor tried to read Dean some poetry that he remembered he used to like, but he did not sing again, not like that night not so very long ago. He would hate to be caught by one of the people who worked the night shift.

When Wednesday night rolled around, Castiel found Sam staying up beside Dean's bed much past his usual time. That meant that Cas would not get to part with his patient the way he wished - it wouldn't be a quiet moment with nobody else around. He wouldn't be given the chance to say the few things he wanted to say. But in a way, Castiel was fine with it, because through the last month, he had grown fond of Sam just enough to be content with simply bringing the man a little bit of comfort, while getting none for himself in return. Why he cared so much, he still couldn't even begin to fathom. It was just one more of the things he tried not to think about, another one to add to an ever-growing list.

"Hey Castiel," Sam muttered without even turning around as soon as the young doctor stepped inside the room.

"Hello Sam," he responded, quietly pulling up one of the chairs to sit beside the tall man who was clearly lost in thought prior to his arrival.

"I was just telling Dean how I'll see him soon," Sam said without any prompt. "I know you're gonna take him early in the morning, so I guess there'll be no time then."

Castiel's throat clenched with a strange kind of emotion when he heard how much trust Sam had placed in him. They barely knew each other, yet the man trusted him enough to rely on him to keep his brother alive. He found that he didn't know what to say in reply to Sam's casual statement.

The younger Winchester noted that Castiel opted to remain silent and shot him a reassuring look.

"Look, I know it might not, um, work out fine..." Sam trailed off, looking at Castiel to make sure that he understood. He did. "But I have faith, you know? In Dean, in you. Seriously, you're one hell of a doctor. If anyone can help my brother it's gotta be you."

Castiel bore his eyes into Sam's, accepting full responsibility for whatever would take place the next day. He nodded slowly.

"I will do my best, Sam."

"I know."

A few minutes passed as they sat idly in companionable silence. Castiel admired that; that Sam could stay quiet without appearing nervous about it. Having always been more of the silent type, he knew how rare a trait it was, and just how much it deserved appreciation. His thoughts dwelled on Dean, the man's past, the future that nobody could be certain of at the time.

To his own surprise, it was he who spoke first.

"What is your brother like, Sam?" he asked, taken aback by how hoarse his own voice sounded.

Sam turned to take a long look at Cas and grinned, making a _hmmmm_ kind of noise. The soft light of the bedside lamp bounced off his green eyes, putting even more emphasis on the man's curious, bemused expression. "Truth be told, Dean can be a bit of a jerk."

Castiel frowned and tilted his head in confusion. He'd expected praise, not an insult. Sam chuckled and elaborated, "Yeah, he really can. And he's brutally honest. Except when it's something serious. Something bad. He always just bottles those things up until they sort of... Blow up in his face. That's where the jerk part comes in."

Castiel's frown deepened as he pursed his lips, trying to attach that new piece of the puzzle together with the rest. Somehow, Sam's description of Dean did not fit that smiling face he saw a picture of not too long ago.

The younger Winchester smiled again. "But hey, don't get me wrong. I love my brother. Honestly, I've looked up to him my whole life," Sam said, looking back at Dean with a wistful expression. "'Cause all that denial and jerk attitude aside, he's pretty awesome. He's strong. He's loyal. And he just doesn't give up, you know? He's dedicated to something, he's sticking to it no matter what, no matter how much he's joking about stupid crap in the meantime."

Now at that statement, Cas nodded without any question. It matched what he'd previously heard of Dean, and unfortunately, it did nothing to dispel his rather irrational wish to get to know the patient, to explore those quirks in his own time. In his mind, he knew that this was the first time he caught himself acting in such an unprofessional manner, and he couldn't help but scold himself nearly every time he left room 317; oddly enough, rational thought seemed to elude him whilst he was in the presence of his troublesome patient.

"He seems rather complex," Castiel commented in a quiet tone, eyes on Dean. Another thing that was equally complex was how much a mystery the Winchester had proved to be, without ever exchanging as much as a word with the doctor who spent so much time pondering the man's personality.

"You could say that," Sam responded with a grin. He then slapped his knees and stood, stretching lazily. "Hey, I think I'm gonna go down to the bar and get some coffee. You want anything?"

Castiel shook his head in response, still pre-occupied with looking at Dean. Thanks to that, he missed Sam's warm, knowing smirk.

"Alright. Hey, you know, I think that you and Dean would make good friends."

That did not fail to catch the doctor's attention. He looked up, brows raised, lips slightly parted, as his eyes searched Sam's for some sort of clarification. Alas, he found none, because Sam turned away to hide his expression and left the doctor alone with his patient.

So he was given an opportunity to say what he hoped to say, after all.

Dean seemed to be at peace, but then again, what else could he possibly appear to be? He was asleep, likely oblivious to the turmoil his condition had been causing to those who were very much awake and aware of their surroundings. Castiel knew that if Dean were to wake up, he'd likely have no idea that Cas even existed. While he spent the past month piecing together splinters of who Dean was, Dean will not know him at all. He found the feeling to be disturbing, unpleasant in an alien sort of way, but obviously, he wished for Dean's recovery all the same.

"Dean," he managed, moving closer to the bed to take a better look at his patient. "I'm sorry. I truly apologize. It is my fault that you are in this state. I should have known better than to trust-"

He stopped there. He wasn't supposed to be ranting about Crowley. He was supposed to say something else.

"But I will do my best for you tomorrow, Dean. I won't make the same mistake twice. You will open your eyes. You will open them _soon_."

A few deep breaths later, he stood. Suddenly, he wanted to be alone; he didn't want to be caught there with his eyes glued to Dean upon Sam's return. It was time for him to go.

One last pained glance later, he was half-way through the door, when a thought struck him.

"Dean," he whispered over the shoulder, "I would very much like to be your friend one day."

This time around, his steps were soft and quiet as he walked down the hall for the last time before Dean's surgery, hands his pockets, heart beating its way somewhere up his throat.

**:~:**

The procedure turned out to be more routine than Castiel had expected. Despite all the emotional distress that was tied to it, despite knowing that, reasoning aside, a failed surgery would affect him personally this time around, when it was time to act, Castiel was all business as usual. He performed every action according to his typical schedule. He woke up at the alarm, he showered and forced a bite of toast down his throat, he drove up to the hospital and attended the usual morning meeting with Michael, he did his rounds and then ended up in the preparation room, scrubbing his hands and changing his clothes.

Twenty minutes later, the nurses brought in an unsurprisingly sedated Dean Winchester, naked although covered by a sheet from the waist down, looking as calm as ever in the face of danger. Cas only hoped his own expression was quite as stoic as the whole team assembled for the procedure looked at him expectantly, awaiting their orders.

Deep breath. One, two, four, seven. It was time to act.

Two hours later, everything was over and done with. The young doctor was surprised with how everything went entirely by the book - there were no scares, Dean's pulse did not wane for a moment, and the swelling, although located in a very problematic area of the skull, had been considerably reduced by the surgery.

It wasn't until the others had started putting away their tools that Cas realized it really was all over. It wasn't until then that his knees started to fail him, and it wasn't until then that he suddenly found himself feeling claustrophobically trapped inside the small, cold, windowless room. Dean's head was covered in bandages again and Castiel couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the thought, the possible consequences.

He knew that Dean could still die at any given time, no matter how much he tried to avert that outcome.

He bolted out of the room much like he did a few days back, and he did not stop until he was outside, gasping for breath, desperately needing some fresh air in his lungs.

Castiel Milton absolutely hated waiting, especially when he was waiting for the unknown. And now, there was nothing else to do but to wait.

* * *

Inside Dean's room, Sam was waiting too. When they brought his brother back, alive and well although obviously still asleep, Sam couldn't hold back tears. His thoughts drifted to Castiel - where was he? - but his focus was still entirely on his older brother.

Sam would wait. He'd not go any-freaking-where for the next _however long it took_, he'd sit in this damn chair and only get out to pace for a bit every few hours, 'cause damn it to hell, this chair was the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the universe. But hey, he could pace in this tiny room too. He wouldn't leave until Dean woke up.

Because he _will_, and he'll wake up soon. Sam trusted Castiel.

Speaking of Castiel, Sam hadn't seen him. A while after the nurses brought Dean back, some other doctor popped in to tell him that everything went well and that he shouldn't worry and that if anything was out of the ordinary he should press that big red button over there to call a nurse. Sam knew. He'd still rather hear Castiel's "_Nothing is certain, Sam,_" than this doctor's insincere reassurance, but he knew that the man meant well. Sam often did much the same with people who were worried about something, he fed them false hope and counted on it turning out to be true.

Sam stayed up the whole night, and not once did Castiel come to visit, but that was alright. On some weird level, Sam understood. He recognized a bit of Dean in Castiel, and that helped him relate to the workings of the man's brain. He didn't feel upset at the doctor's sudden lack of interest.

Sam then stayed up the whole day, and Dean still did not awaken. Sam on the other hand was half-asleep by then, finding himself drifting off with his head resting on the bed as he leaned forward in that blasted chair. Hey, he'd slept in many a worse condition. It was okay.

Even so, he didn't want to doze off. What if Dean really did wake up? His hope was in full swing now considering that his brother had been stable according to all the doctors that came and went throughout the day (not one of them being Castiel). He wouldn't want to miss it. Hell, Dean might need him if he woke up. Sam would imagine that Dean would have a hard time understanding what's going on. Somebody needed to be there to clear things up for him the moment he opened his eyes.

He'd stay up.

Thirty-three minutes later, Sam was fast asleep.

Two days later, so was Dean. _Still_. And Sam was starting to worry, because not only was his brother still asleep, he also hadn't seen Castiel.

When that feisty nurse, Meg, came in on Sunday to give Dean a change of bandages, Sam couldn't help but ask, "Where's Doctor Milton? He's not come in to check on Dean since the operation."

Meg snorted in response. "Oh boy, of course he did. You've just been sleeping. Poor little Cas has been peeking in here every night since your cute hunk of a brother was driven back here after the surgery."

Sam made a surprised sort of expression that did not go amiss. "Look, he's an oddball, alright? Doesn't wanna give you too much hope or something. I don't know..." she said, but then added softly, "Hey, I'll tell him to pop in when I see him, okay?"

Sam nodded. He really just wanted to see Castiel, hope be damned. He had a feeling of _we're both in this together_ and he didn't want to go through this alone. Truth be told, he thought - somewhere in the back of his head - that Dean may have been awake by now. But he wasn't.

Not even five days after the surgery, when Castiel finally came in again.

It was funny. Castiel avoided the Winchesters after the surgery, needing time to recharge and accept whatever responsibility lied on him in relation to his patient's health, but once he did get persuaded into coming in, he hardly ever left. He stayed for the vast majority of Monday and then came right back on Tuesday, proving to be an irreplaceable consolation to Sam, who was slowly losing hope but refusing to let it show. Castiel was more willing to wait. He knew these things had a very frustrating tendency to take their time.

Needless to say, he was terrified. Also needless to say, he wanted to be there if Dean were to wake up.

Needless to add, he wasn't.

The Thursday following the surgery, when Castiel was called in for an emergency, Sam used that big red button for the first time, summoning a team of nurses.

Why? Because...

He was immersed in a book at the time, but he had good reflexes, he did not miss a second of when Dean began to stir. That alone was odd, unfamiliar by now, because his brother had been still as a statue, the only movement being the rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

First, it was a slight twitch of his hand. Then a barely noticeable flutter of long eyelashes.

And finally, at long last, Dean's lids slowly pried open to reveal a pair of green, very confused eyes.

"Dean! Man, are you okay? Dean!" Sam shouted much too loudly, tossing the book down on the floor and standing up to lean right over his brother.

Dean was drowsy. Very drowsy. And dizzy. The room was spinning at like, a million miles per hour, and he felt as though somebody punched him right in the temple. Hard.

He wondered if he'd been drinking the previous night. Everything was so hazy. Hey, it must've been one hell of a night.

And then, out of the fog, he remembered some sort of a melody. Not bad, honestly, he'd heard much worse in his lifetime, but it didn't make sense to him. He rarely ever dreamed.

And then he opened his eyes, his own bubble of quiet quickly broken by his crybaby of a brother. Wait, what the hell was Sam doing there?

"Dean? Dean!" Sam's voice was borderline desperate. That alone should've alerted Dean that there was something up, but really, hangover of the friggin' century. Or something.

"Dude," he choked out, entirely shocked by how parched his throat was. Really, he could do no more than to whisper. "Did you sing to me?"

Sam's eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of their sockets.

That was when Dean heard yet another noise. Loud, somewhere else in the room, which was pretty damn unfamiliar, by the way.

That was when Castiel burst in, followed by a team of nurses, to find Dean Winchester with his eyes wide open.

Dean was awake...

Dean was _awake_!

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Oh my gosh, I'm ****_so_**** sorry for being gone for ages. I mean it when I say that I work 12 hours a day - add to that 2 hours on the commute and some sleep and I get literally zero writing time on a normal day. However, despite the irregular updates, this story is very much alive and I think of it often. Please don't give up on me and keep reviewing - you guys are my motivation! I adore you to bits! :3**

**Little spoiler: our two (future) lovebirds finally meet. What do you think? Read below!**

**:~:**

Everything felt as though it was in slow motion, but as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite.

When Cas rushed in, notified by nobody else than Meg, the first thing that struck him was a pair of vibrant green eyes. Eyes which he'd already seen - during tests, or on that one picture - but now, those eyes were so alive. So very different. They were hidden behind a pair of long, fluttering eyelashes, accompanied by lips that drew breaths in sharp intakes, although Dean stayed put, not attempting to sit up just yet, but he was still in motion. He was _alive_.

It was an irrational feeling, a stupid, senseless thought, but he found himself wanting to be alone with this stranger. To say hello in the manner that was now usual to him.

But Dean didn't know him, and there were more important things to be done. Castiel felt that nearly every single pair of eyes in the room was glued firmly to him, awaiting some sort of direction. And then there was Dean, whose stare was nothing if not extremely confused, flitting between all the strangers in the room, not once landing on Castiel.

He forced his hurried steps to an abrupt halt just next to Dean's bedside, painfully aware of the fact that everybody's gaze followed his every movement. He hated the attention. He performed best on his own.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester," he forced himself to say in as casual a tone as he could ever hope to muster, "How are you feeling?"

Calmly, he reached to the feet of the bed to fetch Dean's card. It gave him a good excuse not to look at anybody. He hardly needed to check the piece of paper - he knew Dean's blood work by heart; it just felt good to draw his eyes away from the man, if only for an instant.

"What the _hell_?"

He heard the voice; ragged, hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet still very masculine, deep, resounding in the tiny room. He discarded what he was staring at and looked at his patient, finding the man looking back and forth between him and Sam.

Just to see Dean actually moving, however little he could at the time, was mind-blowing to Castiel. He found that his emotions, always so very hard for him to pinpoint, were now brewing just underneath the surface, threatening to emerge, to break the dam at any given moment.

"Dean, you were in a coma, you were asleep for a month," Sam supplied. Castiel's attention turned towards the younger Winchester, the exchange between the brothers briefly capturing his interest.

Dean's eyes widened at the information, but soon he scoffed weakly, seemingly dismissing it as untrue.

"Yeah, right, and you're Megan friggin' Fox," Dean said, but his expression fell when he realized that his voice just couldn't hold for that long. The last two or three words were so quiet that if not for the fact that everyone in the room held their breath, they wouldn't have understood what Dean was trying to say. His own weakness seemed to be proof enough that Sam was not kidding.

Castiel felt a heavy lump form in his throat when he observed the man's face over the seconds that followed. The moment when realization worked its way into his brain, when the truth of his brother's words sunk in. When he realized that something really _was_ very wrong.

Cas wanted to be a source of comfort, but he was nothing more than a stranger to his patient at this point. The past month - however bizarrely important to the young doctor - couldn't have meant anything to Dean, because they hadn't actually met.

So Cas resolved to do the one thing he knew how to do; to remain professional, to keep up the facade at all costs.

"Nurse Miller," he addressed a young, blonde woman straight out of school in a tone that was surprisingly calm and collected for someone so internally shaken. "Please fetch Mr. Winchester a glass of water."

The girl stood with her mouth slightly agape, staring at Dean in complete wonder. If Cas was any weaker, his reaction would likely not differ from that of the inexperienced nurse who worked under his lead. Of course he hoped, hoped desperately, that he'd be able to save his patient, but he wasn't certain of it, could never be certain. Seeing the man awake, moving, even speaking, it was all wondrous to him. However, that didn't excuse the rest of his staff acting in an undesirable way.

Castiel sighed irritably and repeated, "Nurse Miller?" Noting that he finally captured a splinter of her attention, he added, "_Now_, if possible."

She shook her head slightly, blonde locks flipping back and forth, and then sprung out of the room while the rest of the staff stared on, eyes darting between the coma patient and Doctor Milton.

Before Castiel had a chance to react, the confusion in Dean's eyes transformed into panic, and he found his patient trying to scramble out of bed while muttering something along the lines of _this is bullshit_ under his breath.

The moment he tried to lift himself up on his elbows, he fell back with a loud groan of pain. Both Sam and Cas were by the man's side in milliseconds, one trying to keep his brother still, the other ensuring that no harm was done.

"Dean, relax," Sam pleaded, "You're okay. You're okay man, you're at the hospital. Look, this is your doctor, this is Castiel," Sam added frantically, bobbing his head in Cas' general direction.

Dean's eyes were wide open, pupils dilated to the point of nearly hiding the green shade of his irises, and Castiel did not miss the moment when the man begun trying to compose himself. It was the same moment that Dean's eyes finally met his; not just a quick glance, but an actual stare.

Castiel met his patient's gaze with a look he hoped the man would find reassuring, blue eyes scanning the man softly, but finding only confusion. It lasted but a few seconds before Dean turned towards Sam once again.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean choked out. "Was I really out of it for _a month_?"

"Yeah. But you'll be okay now. You'll be fine," Sam chanted, more to himself than to his brother.

"Your brother is right, Mr. Winchester," he said calmly, fully capturing the man's attention, as well as that of everybody else. "You are still weak, but your bones are mending. You need to lie still and let your body heal."

Calling the man anything else than Dean felt odd, but it wasn't like they were formally introduced.

Dean remained silent for a moment, studying the black haired man with a befuddled interest. "Who are you again?"

"Dean, that's-" Sam started, but Cas beat him to it.

"My name is Castiel," he replied levelly, "Castiel Milton."

The green eyed man stared in confusion for another instant. In the meantime, the nurse returned with a glass of water for him, which Cas motioned for her to hand to Sam.

"Drink some water," Sam said, helping Dean out, which effectively tore his, already very feeble, focus away from Cas.

Cas gave the man a couple of minutes before speaking again, while Dean took slow, tiny sips of water to soothe his parched throat.

"We are going to have to run some tests," he said, then turned towards the rest of the staff. "I will not be requiring assistance, thank you."

His gruff and serious voice pulled them back to reality, and although with a look of disappointment, the nurses and doctors left the room one by one, with Meg being the last one to leave, shutting the door behind the group with a quiet _click_. As a result, Cas was left alone with Dean and an overjoyed, teary-eyed Sam.

Only then did it truly hit him. Dean was _alive_. His mysterious patient that he'd spent a great deal of time thinking about was there, right before his eyes, alive and hopefully looking at a full recovery sometime in the near future.

Cas hadn't failed. The surgery was the right thing to do.

_Dean would be fine_.

Just as Cas was about to state that he'd have to check his pulse, Dean muttered under his breath, "What happened?"

He looked at Sam, whose expression fell considerably upon hearing his older brother's question. Cas could tell that this was something Sam would rather not mention, not now that everything was so much better than just one day ago, but he also knew that Dean deserved an explanation, so he was prepared to offer it if Sam wouldn't.

Sam composed himself enough to respond, so Castiel settled for looking back into Dean's card to grant the brothers an illusion of privacy, even though he found his attention constantly drifting back towards the elder Winchester.

"There was an accident," Sam said quietly. "Car crash."

Dean grew much more alert upon hearing that. "Did I..."

That sentence was just fine remaining unfinished. Both Sam and Castiel knew what he meant. _Did I cause it? Did I kill somebody?_

A quick look in Dean's direction showed Cas how much those green eyes were silently pleading _no_; the sight was gut-wrenching, driving home the point that he was already too attached to the man. He'd seen so much worse in his career and remained almost unaffected, but now-

"No, of course not! Dean, it wasn't your fault!" Sam protested heatedly.

"The other driver was found driving under influence," Castiel chimed in hesitantly. "He died on site."

Dean gaped at him, frowning as if he'd seen him for the first time, shaking his head in what little motions his unused muscles would allow.

"So he's dead, then."

His voice was so hollow, it left Castiel feeling powerless. He said no more, leaving it all to Sam.

"It wasn't your fault," the younger Winchester repeated, "Really, Dean, the guy was completely wasted. I'm just happy you're alive."

Dean looked as if he was about to argue but held back, possibly on Castiel's account. The thought made Cas feel out of place again, as if he was intruding, but he quickly realized that he was there for a reason. He was his doctor. He _had_ to be there.

Deep breath. Take a deep breath.

Sam must have reached the same conclusion, because he stood, surprising the other two men in the room.

"I'm gonna go call Uncle Bobby," he said, eyes on Dean. "He's gonna kill me if I don't tell him you're up, Sleeping Beauty."

Castiel was happy to note a hint of mirth in those green eyes, and then taken aback by the exchange that followed.

"Bitch," Dean said, almost affectionately.

"Jerk," Sam replied without missing a beat. He then turned towards Cas, his hazel eyes, so similar to Dean's, boring into the doctor with a sense of gratitude that could not be mistaken for anything else.

"Thank you, Castiel," Sam said, outstretching his hand for a handshake. "I really can't thank you enough."

Cas nodded slowly, lips pursing in a resemblance of a smile, and he grabbed Sam's hand with confidence, expecting nothing more than a quick shake of hands.

He completely failed to anticipate the hug that followed. Instead of stopping at a simple gesture, Sam pulled him in for a brotherly hug, embracing him. It lasted but a few seconds, but Castiel found himself surprised; Sam, however, didn't seem to find it all that odd. He ended the hug with a pat on Cas' back and moved away, with a huge grin plastered across his face and pure, relentless happiness in his eyes.

When he was done saying _thank you_, Sam glanced at Dean and then left the room, leaving the two men on their own.

Castiel stood still for a moment, looking at nothing in particular, then cleared his throat and turned towards Dean, finding the man staring down at his own hands with a serious expression.

It was strange to Cas how he already felt like he knew Dean - like he could read him, adjust to this big change that was him being awake, get to know him easily. But that was not like Castiel Milton. He did not possess the skills required to make friends without much hassle, and people did not flock around him often. He also did not possess the social skills to put this man at ease, could not find the right words to say, so he did what he usually did; simply went on with his job.

"I will have to check your pulse," he said in a low voice, attempting to conceal his own nervousness. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled the stethoscope off his neck and approached Dean. The man stared into space continuously, refusing to acknowledge Castiel's presence. It seemed as though whatever playful facade he kept up around his brother was all gone now, and Cas was not worth the effort of trying to maintain the act.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain composed, and lowered the stethoscope just above Dean's chest, clad in nothing but a white hospital gown. Castiel then counted to twenty in his mind, hoping that Dean would understand what needed to be done, but there was no reaction from his patient, forcing him to speak up.

"Please lift your shirt," he requested calmly.

Dean tried to do as he was asked, but his earlier exertion - the attempt to get out of bed - left him feeling exhausted. Being bedridden and unconscious for a month didn't do him any favors.

Powerless arms fell back on the bed, accompanied by a loud groan from the man. Long story short, he simply lacked the energy to as much as move a finger, which wasn't unexpected, but it worried Castiel all the same.

Cas didn't know how to react. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Don't tire yourself, Mr. Winchester. Here, I'll just-"

With that, he went to lift the shirt ever so slightly so that he could slip the stethoscope underneath. Dean didn't protest, opting to simply lie there and ignore Castiel's ministrations.

He certainly wasn't easy to read.

The man's pulse was steady, albeit quickened slightly at the cold touch of the stethoscope. As for Castiel, he would be lying if he said that his own heartbeat did not stutter at the accidental brush of fingers against Dean's bare skin as he removed the tool.

He proceeded with other tests, calmly describing each of his actions beforehand, but Dean didn't speak to him for long minutes that dragged on almost painfully. Although his patient refused to look his way, Castiel couldn't help but notice that Dean's eyes were glazed, the green slowly growing dim, which he knew to be a bad sign.

As Castiel took blood samples from his unresisting, silent patient, the man finally broke the lingering silence.

"You done soon?" Dean asked in a flat tone.

Cas almost jumped at the unexpected question, but composed himself quickly enough.

"Yes," he responded hesitantly, and then added, "Just two more examinations to go."

Dean seemed to return to being lost in thought, but spoke up again not more than a minute later.

"I killed him," he said out of the blue in a voice that was devoid of all emotion. "The guy's dead. And I've been out of it for what, a month?"

His eyes finally met Castiel's, and the doctor nodded sadly. He wanted to protest to his patient seeing things that way, but he wasn't given the chance, because Dean's train of thought took a turn elsewhere again.

"You been here this whole time?"

Castiel took the repeated changes of subject in stride. "Yes. I was at the hospital when you were admitted to the E.R."

"And you know my brother," Dean stated more than asked.

"Your brother has spent nearly every night in this room, yes."

Dean frowned at Cas, as if the answer he received was not satisfactory.

"How's he holding up?"

Castiel looked up from the syringe he'd been focusing on, because Dean's voice changed drastically. He now sounded tender - hoarse - tired, and most of all, _worried_. Their eyes met once more, blue peering into green. It was amazing to Cas to see the man alive, but he knew that it was a lot to be faced with at once - waking up from a coma, finding out that you've had an accident; that a person had _died_, even if it wasn't your fault. He'd seen it before, of course he had. Much too many times.

But for Dean, there was even more. Having heard Sam's stories, he knew that the two brothers were close, and Dean's question only confirmed his assumptions.

"I think it would be wiser for you to ask him yourself, Mr. Winchester."

"Don't call me that," Dean grumbled impatiently, "You sound like my friggin' history teacher, and she was a royal bitch."

Castiel blinked at the choice of words, but didn't comment on it, opting to remain silent.

"Besides," Dean continued without further encouragement, "I know what Sammy's gonna say if I ask him. Do you know what he's gonna say?" Castiel shook his head. "He's gonna say he's fine. We both always say we're fine. Runs in the family. Wanna know why? Because we're friggin' messed up, that's what we are. And now it's even worse! I'm not much better than my old man, am I? With a growing body count under my belt?"

He studied his patient for an instant, increasingly worried. Dean was silent at first, but so talkative now, and the things he mentioned struck Cas as personal, although he couldn't make much sense of them.

With a moment's hesitation, Castiel said nothing, but brought his hand up to Dean's forehead, the last examination he needed to do.

Dean flinched under his touch.

"You're cold," he whined, voice suddenly weaker. "It's friggin' cold in here. Where's Sam? Where's my brother?!"

Castiel frowned. Dean's temperature was much higher than would be considered fine, and his patient was becoming increasingly delirious. Beads of sweat traveled down his forehead, goose-bumps appeared on his skin, and his green eyes looked as if they were covered by a fog of confusion and fear.

"Dean, calm down," he pleaded, trying not to show that he himself was concerned about the man's well-being. "I'm going to give you medication that will help you sleep."

"The hell's your problem? I was in a _coma_, I don't want to sleep!"

He started tossing and turning, but his body was too weak to sustain any more exertion that day. A defeated, scared groan escaped the man's lips.

Castiel's heart clenched.

"Dean," he repeated firmly, "Dean..."

Castiel's hands moved down to Dean's shoulders, holding him in place as to not let him injure himself. At that, Dean finally looked at him, a sort of look that reminded Cas of a deer in the headlights. The man was panting for breath, and even though Cas fought to keep his composure, he was visibly shaken too.

"You will be fine. I promise you."

He'd spent so much time thinking about this patient. He'd become emotionally invested.

It was wrong of him, but-

"Let me go! Where's Sammy?!"

Castiel winced, realizing that he'd have no choice but to sedate Dean for now. They had to focus on beating down the fever, and with his patient in this state, it would only be made more difficult by keeping him awake.

He let Dean go for a moment and reached towards the medicine cabin, filling up an empty syringe with a heavy sedative and inserting the drug right into Dean's veins, replacing the IV fluid bag that he was permanently hooked up to.

"No! SAMMY!" Dean protested weakly. "No! I don't want to sleep! I don't want to..."

Castiel could hardly pinpoint the feeling that plagued him the moment his patient fell back against the pillow, breath evening out.

He only knew one thing.

It _wasn't_ a good feeling.

**:~:**

Whatever energy Castiel still had left after this rollercoaster of a day was spent on calming Sam down upon the man's return. Much like Dean didn't want to sleep, Sam's first thought was that he fell back into a coma.

Cas explained the situation and focused on beating down Dean's fever, which he eventually managed to achieve with the right kind of medication. Sam slowly relaxed when he realized that yes, Dean _would_ wake up as soon as the drug wore off, and they'd have his test results in the morning, they would know more then. For the time being, it was back to waiting for the two men.

As the hours drew closer to midnight, the room emptied of people, leaving only Sam and Cas on their own with a sedated Dean. It was an unspoken agreement between the two men - they both knew that the other one would remain throughout the night and more, all the way until Dean was awake again.

Sam was leaning back, arms crossed at the chest. He studied his brother with worry, albeit not with the same kind of panic he greeted Cas with a couple of hours ago. Castiel, on the other hand, sat calmly in a chair on the opposite side of Dean's cot, the elder Winchester caught in between his doctor and his younger brother, although obviously unaware of the fact.

"When is Dean going to wake up?" Sam asked, eyes glued to his brother.

"In a couple of hours," Castiel replied levelly only to softly add, "He was asking after you, Sam."

Castiel studied the face of his patient, just like he'd done so many nights before. In truth, Dean had proved to be more pleasant asleep than awake so far - but Cas was more than willing to give him the benefit of doubt. After all, for the vast majority of their waking acquaintance, Dean was in panic, shocked or borderline delirious.

"Yeah?" Castiel nodded. "I shouldn't have gone. Maybe that's why he-"

"No," the young doctor interrupted, "My belief is that the fever was the cause of his... _Unconventional_ behavior."

Sam chuckled. "I take it you've seen the best that my brother has to offer, eh, Doctor?"

Cas frowned, eyeing the man with confusion. If that was Dean Winchester's best side, he could hardly imagine what his worst was like. He begun to feel irrationally disappointed, but then he found Sam laughing, which confused him even more.

"You should see your face," Sam enthused at last. "You look like a kid who just had his candy stolen."

He tilted his head, lacking understanding, although now aware that Sam was laughing at something he said or did.

"Don't worry, Dean's not so bad. I mean, I _did_ say he's a bit of a jerk," Sam said with a smirk, meeting Castiel's eye. "But for the most part, he's awesome."

Castiel nodded with a shade of a smile on his lips. He had to admit that he was beginning to feel increasingly anxious to meet his patient properly. Based on his brother's account, Dean seemed to be an interesting man.

The two men spent a while talking until Sam fell asleep in the highly uncomfortable chair; a month of practice did wonders, it seemed. Cas opted to stay up, eyes glued to Dean, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest without the same kind of fear that was previously familiar to him.

It was around five in the morning when Dean started to stir, and two minutes later, he opened his eyes.

Dazed at first, his gaze finally landed on Cas, and Cas said not a word, not one, aside from his usual greeting. Somehow, in the quiet of dawn, it was easier to be himself around Dean.

"Hello, Dean," he said, unsure whether the way the Winchester's eyes widened at his words was a good thing or not.

"Hey," Dean muttered at last, "I was out of it again, wasn't I?"

"I'm afraid so."

Dean hesitated for a moment before asking, "How long?"

Castiel gave him a look that was almost tender. Almost.

"Just about ten hours," he replied. "I was forced to sedate you."

Dean was expressive, Castiel noted in his mind, he just wasn't easy to read. But Cas spent enough time around other people to accurately identify Dean's countenance - the man was _ashamed_. The Winchester broke their shared gaze and looked down at the clinically white sheets on his bed.

"I caused some trouble, huh?" he muttered.

"It's fine. I understand that you were in a shock."

Dean smiled softly, but did not look back up.

"So what's gonna happen to me now? Can I get out of here anytime soon?" Dean asked hopefully; almost too hopefully for Cas' liking. He did want to get to know him better, after all.

"I will be able to tell you more in the morning, Dean," Castiel responded. "You will first need to learn how to walk again. Your limbs have been unused for quite some time."

His green-eyed patient smirked, as if Castiel had just told a poor joke.

"Hell yeah they have," he agreed, "One of them more than the rest. Little Dean hasn't been out for a walk in quite some time, ya know?"

Castiel tilted his head again, not understanding what Dean meant. Following a prolonged silence, the man looked up at him, peering into his eyes with that amused expression. After a moment of Cas not recognizing his meaning, Dean shook his head with a stiffened chuckle and dismissed the previous subject.

"You're Castiel, right?" he asked, still looking at his doctor curiously.

"Castiel Milton, yes," Cas said, enjoying the sound of his name when it fell from Dean's lips.

Of course, he'd later scold himself for such thoughts. He'd even be angry with himself for allowing such liberties. But that would be later, not right now. As he once noted, common sense eluded him when he was in the presence of Dean Winchester, asleep or not.

"So why did your folks do this to you?" Dean asked, and when he saw that Cas did not pick up on the joke, he explained further, "_The name_. It's a bit unusual, man."

Castiel nodded. "I suppose they wanted to be unique."

"By giving _you_ a unique name?" Dean smirked, again. Castiel liked the way he smiled. It was a huge contrast from the man he'd gotten to know so far.

"I have gotten used to it over the years," Cas said, not offended. He'd heard remarks about his name too many times before, all from people he cared a great deal less about.

Now it was Dean's turn to nod, and he did, not breaking eye-contact with Castiel for even a moment. Castiel was beginning to crumble under the unexpected intensity of the moment. For the umpteenth time, he reminded himself that Dean was nothing short of a stranger.

They both heard a sound, and the spell was broken when they saw Sam begin to wake up. For some reason, Castiel felt it best to leave the two of them alone for a while. He stood, not stopping to stretch his tired muscles, and gave Dean one last look.

"I will check in on you soon. Get some more rest," he half-requested, half-ordered, and to his surprise, Dean didn't argue.

He felt the man's gaze follow him out of the room. He didn't expect him to say anything else. But if Doctor Milton knew one thing about his patient, it was that the man was a constant surprise. Why should that day be any different? Dean proved him wrong, _again_.

How?

Because just as he was about to step out of room 317, above Sam's enthusiastic shout of _Dean!_, he still managed to hear Dean's hoarse, masculine voice.

It was quiet.

It was disconcerting.

It was...

"See you later, Cas."

Cas.

Cas...

_Cas._

**_Stay tuned for chapter five!_**


End file.
